Ruins at Dusk
by magsofthemuses
Summary: AU post-"New Moon Rising" mild crossover with Ginger Snaps. Oz is on a journey.


**Matthew 10:16** - Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore as wise as serpents and harmless as doves.

**Lycaeus**

It's hard to separate fact from fiction sometimes... Man wanted to wipe out the werewolves and it wasn't enough to kill them all, they wanted to erase their very existence from history. Records burned and destroyed, monuments torn down.

Now who remembers? All we can do is piece together scraps from the legends and nightmares of others.

"The time of monsters passed."

"We were never monsters."

"Call me crazy but eating people a couple times a month never struck me as something the scouts would endorse."

"People damn what they're afraid of."

"Why shouldn't they be afraid? I worked for months to control it, I gave up an entire life-"

"Control, Oz, you can't control the wolf within."

"I've heard this before."

"No you haven't."

Man's story is written in the earth telling of the creation and the corruption of the world we know. When Man first walked here no cities crowded the rivers or hills. Life was simple and the trees bent over to give their fruit. As Man learned to build and create he set himself aside from the other animals and their dominance became assured.

But then terrible seasons of storms and drought brought starvation and sickness to Man

Several clans who worshiped the 'Lady of the Moon' prayed to her that she might aid them in their days of need. As a reward for their devout service and respect for her she gave them a gift. The blessing to cast aside their weapons and take on fur so that they might have the speed and strength to hunt in a dying world. They ruled the forests, rocks and streams away from the cities content to live intermingled with the wild. The 'Lady of the Moon' passed on only one rule; "Never harm Man". With the strength granted by their fur they must repay her kindness by being Man's guardians in the night when his vision was weak and predators prowled.

Then blood began to stain the earth as the bitter quarrels of kingdoms and countries, each fighting for superiority. It was in this beginning that Man forgot their enemy was not each-other but what waited for them to take a careless step or breathe a thoughtless word. Seeing the lazy and corpulent and vicious ways lying in the hearts of Man many of the Chosen felt they no longer deserved their protection. Corrupt, Man was driven by greed to raid the bowels of the earth, succumbed to avarice and murder, each taking what he could.

One night a Chosen struck a village and devoured a family under the light of the Moon.

"For of the soule the bodie forme doth take: For soule is forme, and doth the body make."

- **Spenser**

"Dominic, everyone has some spiritual answer to everything."

"Someone is bound it get it right someday."

"I can't accept that anymore."

"You know, inside every myth and legend no matter how farfetched lies some semblance of truth. Just look around you, it might not be much now but this was once a holy place for shapeshifters like us."

"No one's religion paints it's followers in a bad light."

One of the legends say that Fenris burst from the chains the Gods used to bind him. He made love to the Moon and their children became the first clan of werewolves, the 'Warg'.

The outcasts.

The accursed ones.

_Willow - _

_We're currently in a diner in Roswell, New Mexico getting something to eat before we head out into the desert. I know it's been a while since my last letter and it looks like it'll be a while yet until my next one but I felt you deserved to hear something from me. I was sorry to hear about Tara's family but she seemed to have grown up a nice, sensible human being in spite of her past. Having you and the others around I'm sure more than makes up for it. You're a strong woman Willow and your heart leads you to the right places._

_This temple, or church Dom's been talking about is apparently some sort of holy ground for a cult of animal worshipers, specifically wolves. There might be something there that can tell us more of the history of werewolves and maybe lead us to a cure. Dom says not to hold our breath as it's been more than five hundred years since anyone has inhabited the place and last he heard there wasn't much left to be seen. _

_The moon will be full in twelve days and it's strange to say a little part of me is looking forward to it._

_The girls who've joined us had learned their own method of control: monkshood. It's also known as wolfsbane or by it's proper designation according to Dominic as Aconitum. It's roots are very poisonous to humans but to us it manages to suppress our change. Dominic says the effects will slowly wear off over time as our systems adjust and will be mostly likely useless in a year or two. I was honestly very skeptical about the whole thing and decided to stay with what I knew last full moon. I'm glad I did, the agony on Brigitte's face struck me as almost an unfair trade for the wolf. Ginger refuses to take the monkshood or learn any sort of control so Dominic went for a run with her since our campsite was pretty deep in the bush. I talked a little about you guys with Brigitte to keep her mind off the pain. _

_My coffee is cold now and dusk has fallen so it's time we were heading to the ruins. I don't know what we'll find but hopefully some piece of this ever-growing puzzle will actually fit._

_Take care of yourself. _

~ Oz

"You said you had someone, someone special?"

"Yes, very special."

_I thought she was The One. _

"Human?"

"Yeah, a witch actually."

"Why isn't she with you?"

_There are no fairytale endings. _

"She... found someone else but I don't think it was the waiting that changed her mind."

"She wanted someone little less hairy?"

"No, more with the girl parts."

"Oh. Oh! Well then... That's nice... ... So, her girlfriend hot?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Nice."

"Get a few hours of sleep, Oz, the girls will be awake soon and we better move before the sun gets too high."

**"Metamorphoses" Book I:199-243 -**

He himself ran in terror, and reaching the silent fields howled aloud, frustrated of speech.

Foaming at the mouth, and greedy as ever for killing, he turned against the sheep, still delighting in blood.

His clothes became bristling hair, his arms became legs. He was a wolf, but kept some vestige of his former shape.

Night after night, night after night,

Moonlight, upon painted green;

It shimmers like an ocean breeze

and brings the night's scents to me.

Oz's eyes fluttered open to the brilliance of the sunbeam warming their little encampment. Ginger was still asleep, her miniskirt riding high and her red hair plastered by drool to her cheek. Brigitte reached down and brushed Ginger's hair from her face and then turned back to her book. Something about herbalisim Dominic had given her to read to convince her away from the monkshood.

_You're addicted to poison... _

Oz sat up and his muscles groaned in protest at yet another night spent lying on the earth instead of a bed. Twenty-one years old and he already felt like he had the body of an elderly man.

Dominic was bent over a pile of rocks, his hands tracing something in the dirt. Dom looked up and gestured Oz over.

"Take a look at this, what does that look like to you?"

"Well if I didn't know any better I'd say that was some sort of cave-painting."

"'Didn't know any better?'"

"I've never heard of cave art in New Mexico."

"Quite right, they're most commonly found in Spain, France and places otherwise known as the 'old world', this... This is definitely ocher, the traditional pigmentation used by primitives... Look at this, what does that look like to you?"

"A wolf?"

"That doesn't look like any normal wolf I've seen, Oz."

"Why would people paint werewolves?"

"Good question, cave art was believed to be a form of hunting magic, painting game on cave walls was supposed to encourage a more bountiful hunt."

"Werewolf hunting. I've encountered that myself."

"Yet I don't get the feeling this place was meant to encourage werewolf hunting."

A few hundred years ago in my home country a group of witches laid siege to a village and nearly caused the starvation and ruin of it's people. One night a broken man was found on the side of a road by a farmer who brought him into his home though they didn't hold much hope for his survival. The farmer's family gave the man what little broth and grain they could afford and were shocked to discover in the morning that the man's seemingly mortal injuries were completely healed.

The man said he was a werewolf and he had been wounded in battle with the witches who were causing the devastation to their home. The family was shocked, all their lives the church had taught them that werewolves were agents of the Devil. Too afraid and too exhausted by their plight the family turned him from their home.

Soon afterwards children began to go missing from the village. When the young son of the farmer vanished he and his wife were beside themselves. For two nights she sat by the window with a lit candle praying for him to return. On the third night she cried for her husband- someone was coming down the path to their home.

Rushing out into the darkness the wife burst into tears of joy as her young boy rushed into her arms. Standing there a few meters away was the one who had returned their son to them; a great black wolf with eyes as luminous as the moon. The wolf turned and vanished into the night and they never saw it, or the man they had aided, again.

The story spread of werewolves who walked on the side of good against those who worked ill will. They called them 'good walkers', or the 'hounds of God'.

Brigitte donated her jacket to gently wrap several of the painted rocks and placed them in Oz's backpack, then it was a breakfast of canned beans, flattened bread and juice. Ginger complained loudly about wanting a shower and how if she had to go one more day feeling fuzz on her teeth she was going to bite someone.

They all needed a shower, an actual bed to sleep in but only Dominic had any access to money and he didn't seem interested in spending it on such frivolities.

Oz sighed and hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders. Who was he kidding? Necessities.

"No trumpets sound when the important decisions are made. Destiny is made known silently."

- **Agnes de Mille**

**END**


End file.
